Happiness is a Warm Gun
by Vicki Vance
Summary: The crew of the BeBop encounters a dangerous yet valuable bounty head who is determined to take out Spike after he attempts to catch her. I tried to make this as probable an episode of Cowboy Bebop as possible; as canon as it gets. In 2 parts.
1. Default Chapter

**Happiness is a Warm Gun**  
  
By Vicki Vance  
  
Rating: PG-13 for language. Maybe R, depending on how graphic your imagination is.  
  
Notes/disclaimer:  
I tried to make this as complete and probable an episode of Cowboy Bebop as possible. While the focus is naturally on Spike (he IS the field man, after all) I tried to give some applicable time to the rest of the crew. I also kept with the title style of the show, included the commercial break thingy in the middle, and finished it with one of those see you space cowboy' thingamajiggies.  
  
Happiness is a Warm Gun' would occur somewhere between episodes 20 and 23. That's around Pierrot Le Fou, up to just before Ed and Ein leave and Big Shot goes off the air, about the same time as the movie.  
  
In reference to the show, I call it Cowboy Bebop. In reference to the ship, I call it the BeBop because that's what it says on the side of the ship.  
  
Unlike most anime shows, I thoroughly enjoyed the dubbed version. I have written this in the English language mindset.  
  
In case you're wondering, the song Happiness is a Warm Gun' can be found on the White album by the Beatles.  
  
Finally, I do not own Cowboy Bebop, nor am I making any profit from this.

* * *

I think it's time to blow this thing.  
Get everybody to start together...  
OK 3, 2, 1, let's jam!

* * *

It was a soft day on Hibiscus Ridge and the ducks were eager to feed. They quacked noisily at Faye's ankles and the tickling of their feathers brought back precious memories to a despairing empty mind. She had fed the ducks back home on Earth, back when she was too little to recall or care about where she was, only that she had parents with her, and their assurance was all that was necessary to keep a young girl content.  
  
Faye understood the facts of her situation well. The BeBop, after picking up a lofty bounty on a run of the mill hacker, had docked at Hibiscus Ridge on Mars for some much desired, if not needed, upgrades. With 1000 spare woolongs burning a hole in her pocket, Faye had gone off alone in search of a little play time, and found herself gravitated toward Toshiko Park, a simple public recreational facility complete with a playground and a pond. No doubt long ago someone had brought the white ducks from Earth to Mars, most likely as a pet, but they got loose and now were the primary population of Toshiko.  
  
However, Faye could not name what had brought her here any more than she could resist the desire to engage in an ancient means of entertainment: feeding the ducks.  
  
She had felt silly and futile at first, being the only person there and a grown woman, but after she sat down on a bench did the first triumphant memory come to her. It was from when she was young, very young, and she had been sitting on a bench on Earth, before the accident, and she remembered quite clearly an old man sitting placidly at another bench, also feeding the ducks. He had a red jacket, she remembered, and had a voice like a long lost uncle might.  
  
The memory was brief and the only vivid aspect was the man's jacket, but it had been a milestone for Faye; a beautiful achievement that only quacking birds could bring.  
  
As the sun squatted below the crater ridge and disappeared into the black of space, Faye stood, her bread bag empty, and stretched luxuriously in the orange light, proud and despondent of her achievement. It had been so much, yet yielded nothing.  
  
She stuck her hands in her pockets, and began the short trek back to her ship. She passed shops on her left, and an empty street on her right. Hibiscus Ridge was a quiet place, full of simple, quiet people living simple, quiet lives.  
  
Son of a _BITCH_!  
  
Faye cocked her ear toward to rude sound.  
  
Somebody's sticking out of the crowd, she commented to herself. She was about to make tracks from the disturbance when a man she didn't care to know stumbled bloodily out from between a flower stall and a ramen shop.  
  
she cried more in surprise than concern. What the hell happened to you?  
  
The question was not unnecessary. There was no doubt in Faye's mind that he had been the source of the loud curse, and this particular case seemed especially deserving of it. Spike was a mess. Blood dappled in streaks on his exposed forearms, and he was holding his side as though he were afraid his intestines would slide out if he didn't. Where his dark suit had been torn his light shirt was clearly defined as a canvas of red. Bits of glass sparkled in his hair, and minor cuts on his face indicated to the myriad of injuries he had received when he had crashed through glass at some point.  
  
He put out one hand onto the wall of the ramen shop and kept the other one at his side. He managed a smug grin at Faye.  
  
I met a girl.

* * *

That idiot, Faye muttered angrily, tapping a fingernail against her cheek. I was actually enjoying myself before he stumbled along. He was bleeding all over the place in my ship, and an ambulance could've taken him, but _nooo_! He insisted on _me_ taking him back. Do you have idea how_ hard_ it is to clean up blood?  
  
Then why didn't you just leave him to die? Jet asked, not looking up from his work.  
  
Faye didn't speak for a moment. She took her hand from her face and stood up to observe his work. He rakes in the dough. I need him because I like to eat.  
  
She watched as Jet expertly removed the glass from Spike's face, wrinkling her nose slightly at the sight.  
  
I wonder what he was doing, she mused out loud.  
  
You could ask him, Jet said, dropping another shard of glass into a waiting tray. It glistened red next to its companions.  
  
Yeah, in about five days when he finally wakes up, she growled.  
  
I thought you said he was after a bounty, Jet said, staying on the logic express.  
  
That's what he told me, Faye replied. But he wouldn't tell me who, or why, or anything. Only that it was a woman. Well, he called her a girl, but I don't think a _girl _could do_ that_.  
  
To emphasize, she indicated the four lacerations running in crisscrosses through Spike's flesh. Jet had taken care of those major injuries first, and Faye had even helped him by handing him what he asked for from the medical kit. She did not dare to touch Spike, however, when Jet had asked her to apply pressure. She had touched an injured boy once, back when she was first awakened from sleep and her memory left her with a pliable personality. She had been determined to be unafraid in her new environment, and when a boy had crashed his new ship into a building she had boldly tried to help. She touched the dying child then, applied pressure as she had been taught by someone she couldn't remember, and felt the breath cease. The feeling had sunk deeply into her, and she refused to touch someone in such a way unless she was pressured to do so.  
  
The cuts weren't all that deep, Jet commented. He'd probably kept himself moving and out of her reach. But he still lost a lot of blood, and he'll be outta commission for a couple of days.  
  
But he'll be all right?  
  
The image of the old man feeding the pond ducks had come back to Faye. Jet was not accustomed to depth in Faye's eyes.  
  
I thought you didn't care about him, he said.  
  
Faye, still with the old man, found herself exposed and she didn't like it. She turned away from the ugly yellow couch that had borne Spike's injured body several times before and crossed her arms.  
  
Like I said, she managed at last. He brings home money. He's a valuable asset.  
  
Spike grunted as Jet pulled out the last piece of glass, a large one near his mouth. Faye turned her head slightly to watch him wince. He quickly relaxed, his mouth falling slightly open as he fell away from awareness.  
  
Well, that's it for now, Jet said, pressing gauze to Spike's freshly bleeding face. It's a good thing we had the opportunity to restock on supplies, isn't it? Otherwise, I don't know what I'd do without a fresh medical kit.  
  
Yeah, lucky. Faye was not enthused.  
  
We'll just leave him like the mummy he is until he can eat. Then we'll have no choice but to put him back to work. he winked at Faye, but she wasn't looking at Jet.  
  
Jet, upset that his tease fell flat like a bad sax, returned his attention back to Spike. He pulled off the bloody latex gloves he had used to treat the bleeding and put on fresh ones. He picked up a small flash light, extended a hand to lift one of Spike's eyelids, hesitated, then lifted Spike's left eyelid when he had clearly intended to initially inspect the right. He twirled the light across the dark pupil and observed how its size changed.  
  
Faye wondered idly why Jet had chosen the left eye over the right, but made no comment. Jet had once worked as a police man and probably knew more about that sort of thing than she did. Faye dismissed it as beyond her and didn't think of it again.

* * *

A ceiling.  
  
But not just any ceiling. The upper bulkhead of the BeBop, complete with loose piping and a slowly spinning fan. This sight could only mean one thing.  
  
I'm really starting to hate this damn couch, Spike said to the ceiling of bad news. He moved a hand and wearily examined his body, never taking his eyes off the fan.  
  
One of these days I'm gonna wake up to that fan and I'll be short a limb.  
_  
Today's not that day_, he thought to himself. As far as his hand could tell, his body was there, albeit wrapped in bandages. His toes wiggled, indicating his legs were still attached. His chest hurt, but the pain was very shallow. _Surface injuries_, he thought, with a smile. _My favorite_.  
  
He sat up carefully and found himself feeling stronger than he had expected. He looked down at his body to make the observations his hand could not.  
  
She didn't touch my legs at all, he said, running his hands down his body, searching for any injury that a drug could hide. Nor my arms. She just went for the chest and neck.  
  
Spike's eyes narrowed in all-too-late revelation.  
  
She's good.  
  
Spooky day, spooky play!  
  
Spike looked up. It was Ed, making her usual rounds through the ship, closely followed by Ein. She took no notice of Spike, only continued her cartwheel path down the stairs.  
  
She stopped suddenly, just short of hitting the wall, and sat on her haunches, sniffing at the air. Ein took on a similar stance.  
  
Smell that, Ein? she asked the dog. Yummy smell. Smelllls liiiike dinnerrrrrrrr!  
  
In an explosion of limbs she catapulted herself at the kitchen, Ein at her heels. Spike blinked at her departure.  
  
Well, that's one way to make an exit.  
  
The sound of Ed's ravenous eating was nullified when Jet greeted Spike as he came out of the kitchen, bearing a plate of steaming food.  
  
Hey, how'd you like something to eat?  
  
Spike grinned. Depends. Whatcha got? He recognized the smell.  
  
Bell peppers and beef. Your favorite. Jet held out the plate to Spike, expecting him to take it. Spike hesitated.  
  
Is there actually beef in it this time?  
  
Sure there is! Jet sounded a little offended as he set the plate down before Spike. You forget, we actually got some woolongs nowadays. Not enough to throw around, but a modest sum to sustain us.  
  
Which reminds me, his tone became serious. Why'd you go after a bounty when we don't need the money?  
  
A delighted squeal interrupted them.  
  
Edward found it!  
  
Her intermittent laughter called their attention to her as she bounced in from the kitchen, twirling her computer at her fingertips.  
  
Found what? Jet asked.  
  
Ed found it as she was eating her din-din, she explained, balancing the computer on her head once she'd seated herself cross-legged on the floor. Lotsa woolongs for it. So many zeros!  
  
Jet and Spike watched the teetering screen atop Ed's wobbling head.  
  
Zero. Zero. Zero. Zero. Zero.  
  
Is that her? Jet asked over Ed's chanting.  
  
Yeah, that's her.  
  
Zero. Zero. Zero. Eight zeros! And one lonely two. two and eight zeros!  
  
two hundred million woolongs? Jet said.  
  
It was no lie that Jet's beef and bell peppers was his favorite dish within Jet's power, yet it was not the food that now caused Spike to salivate.  
  
That's why I was after her, he explained.  
  
Yeah, but who is she? She's like a phantom. No picture. No name. Nothing! Only that she uses stylized knives on her victims. How come you have something?  
  
Her name... Spike paused between bites. He was surprised at his own hunger, but didn't question it for long. He always ate and slept like a pig after injuries. After all, who didn't?  
  
...is Sentinel.  
  
Sentinel? What kind of a name is that?  
  
It is the name of someone who is never seen, never heard, and never detected. for unnecessary emphasis, he added: even by the syndicate.  
  
She's involved with organized crime?  
  
No, and that's what makes her so good. Spike said. She's a freelance assassin. Normally, that's a contradictory statement, but in Sentinel's case it's true. She has absolutely no connection with any mob, yet does business with them all the time. See, she hires middlemen to serve as the link between her and the syndicate. What'll happen is she'll do business with one mafia, right, then do business with another, the competing mob, for example. She'll have struck against both syndicates, making enemies in both groups. But the only connection they have to her is the poor middleman, who's-  
  
Killed by a competing mob before they can get any info on their traitor. Jet finished.  
  
Yup. Either by her or by the syndicate, that sap would be done in. One way or another. See, she used to be wanted by only ISSP, for only her links to the murdered middlemen. Back then she used to be worth about seven hundred thousand woolongs.  
  
Only seven hundred grand? Jet said. Why is she worth-  
  
two and eight zeros! Ed cheerily supplied.  
  
I think Ed knows the answer, Spike said, desiring a break from talking for a chance to eat.  
  
Ed blinked at the newfound attention.  
  
Why is Sentinel worth so much now? Jet asked the eccentric girl.  
  
Ed grinned suddenly and proudly displayed her computer on her feet as she stood on her head.  
  
ISSP only wanted her at first, but now she's so POPular!  
  
  
  
As you know, the syndicate-icate and ISSP-P have to do some bizzness with each other.  
  
Jet knew all too well. His prosthetic arm was a daily reminder of the cold fact.  
  
When they decided to share information, they figured out this woman is the one they're all after and upped the ante. Ante. Ante. Ante.  
  
So what you're saying is that ISSP worked with the syndicate on this one? Jet asked.  
  
They put two and two together and got two hundred mil. Spike filled in. Both sides would really like to see this one go down, all syndicates, as a matter of fact. This thing doesn't really have two sides. It has about twenty. Sentinel's taken out a lot of members of a lot of different crime circles. As a result, she's got a lot of frustrated people wanting her dead.  
  
Jet took a moment to absorb the information. Well, I can understand how Ed came up with that story; she can hack into anything. But you, he turned his attention on Spike. How did you come to meet her, and why do you know her alias? And why did you go alone? he added, almost sounding offended.  
  
Spike relished his meal by taking the time to lick his plate and slowly suck the tips of his chopsticks, thoroughly enjoying Jet's impatience.  
  
You forget, he started slowly, then picked up his regular pace. I used to be a member of the Red Dragons. They had me all set up to take over once the old chief farts passed away. I learned some things in that prestigious position. And I didn't mind blazing my own path, rather than following what someone else laid down for me. I fancied myself a spy back then.  
  
He grinned, truly proud of himself.  
  
I followed the middleman one day.  
  
After letting the vitality of the statement sink in, he quickly brushed it aside.  
  
Of course, I was following everyone in those days. Some I liked to follow more than others, he cast a knowing glance at Jet, who always had an interesting story back from his skirt-chasing days.  
  
But when I saw who this middleman met, and heard what they were talking about, I wasn't surprised. I didn't really care either. I was getting ready to leave that damned institution, and the more chaotic I left it, the better off we-  
  
Spike choked. The silence stung. He stared numbly at Jet as his mind screamed insanely at him for letting that slip. He found the control too late.  
  
I. I- The better o-off I would be.  
  
Ed's eyes moved from one stationery man to the other, sensing something very important or dangerous had just happened. Ein watched with the same rapt attention.  
  
Spike cleared his throat and quickly continued.  
  
I knew what she looked like and I knew what kind of operation she ran. I only found her by chance just a few days ago when we landed for upgrades and restocking. So I approached her, and asked for a job...  
  
And she ripped the living shit outta you. Jet finished.  
  
Actually, I'd been doing fine and had landed myself in a potentially physically close and lucrative position with her. I'd be the dependable, expendable link between her and her business.  
  
  
  
But, she asked me my name. And I was stupid enough to tell her the truth. It seems that she keeps her enemies very close and knows every member of every syndicate extremely well, even the ones that have been dead for a few years. The moment I said Spike Spiegel-  
  
You were as good as dead meat. Jet smiled knowingly.  
  
Hey, I'm a walking ghost now anyway, Spike shrugged. Machts nichts.  
  
Spike lowered his head, growing serious.  
  
She's a lot more than I expected. I've met some pretty good assassins before, but she's unlike anything I've encountered before. Her fighting style is so, well, intimate- the way she engages her prey with those lovely knives of her- it just wouldn't be honorable to put a gun on her.  
  
Yeah, and if you weren't careful, you could kill her. Bounties are no good when they're dead.  
  
Speaking of which, I'm now on her very intimate hit list for immediate disposal. I've seen her, Jet, he clarified. For all she knows, she can now be identified, and being faceless and nameless has made her successful and kept her alive.  
  
Spike leaned back in his seat, enjoying the gravity of his situation.  
  
Looks like the hunter has become the hunted, eh, Jet? Kinda poetic, innit?

* * *

The work which becomes a  
new genre itself will be called...   
Cowboy Bebop  



	2. Part 2

**Happiness is a Warm Gun**  
By Vicki Vance.  
Please refer to part 1 for info/disclaimer.

* * *

The work which becomes a  
new genre itself will be called...   
Cowboy Bebop

* * *

A weak fog hung over Toshiko Park in Hibiscus Ridge, just light enough to soften the sharp glow of the street lamps, and lessen the contrast of the shadows and light. The sky blended imperceptibly with the ground, and all existed together in a mass of slowly altering light and color. Spike's face and shirt were the only splash of difference in the uniform setting.  
  
I'm a sitting duck, he mumbled to himself. She's bound to suspect something. But then again, she might be desperate enough to do me in regardless of the convenience.  
  
The chains of the swings creaked and Spike's breath froze in his throat. Every muscle went still and every nerve strained to perceive every noise. He saw her form flutter past the sandpit, slowly circling toward him. Now that he had spotted his hunter, Spike relaxed slightly.  
  
_Stay fluid_, he told himself. _ Don't reach for your gun. Can't shoot her._  
  
Even though he did not want to use it, he had brought his gun anyhow, just in case he had no choice but to wing her. The old dependence on his weapon of choice was overshadowed by the that fact that he truly desired not to use it; she was a most worthy challenge to fight.  
  
Hello there, he said amiably. She stopped, caught off guard by his cordiality. She remained absolutely still and faded slightly into her background. Spike was slightly unnerved by her easy disappearance.  
  
Nice of you to drop by, he commented. I was worried the party was going to start without you.  
  
I am not amused, Sentinel's voice penetrated the darkness. Spike was able to discern her whereabouts again. In order to keep track of her, he'd either have to keep her talking or keep her moving.  
  
And why not? he asked. Never thought you'd get a smart employee like me?  
  
You do realize I am going to kill you, she warned.  
  
Not if I catch you first, he said.  
  
You're a cowboy?!  
  
Just a simple bounty hunter, ma'am.  
  
There was silence for a moment.  
  
How much am I worth? she sounded almost amused.  
  
two hundred million.  
  
The silence was deeper this time, as if the tension of the two antagonists expelled any intrusive noise.  
  
Spike was assaulted by a fantastic flurry of explosive light from the whirling blades of Sentinel. He backed away to avoid it, and his cuts stung at the way he twisted his body to avoid more injuries. He noticed, however, that her attacks were less well-placed than they had been a few days before in the bar.  
  
_The low visibility must be working for me_, Spike thought. He was immediately proved wrong when she managed to strike him. The blow opened an old cut and blazed its own new trail across his unprotected chest. He snarled and retreated, weaving his way past the swings, trying to put an impediment between his assailant and himself. Every second of silence and stillness meant that Sentinel was shifting weight, preparing her next spring-loaded attack that Spike could hardly detect.  
  
Trapped inthe dark, all facets of Spike's instinct damanded that he stop his cowardly retreat and draw his gun and defend himself properly. His hand itched for the familiar, comforting feel of the warm grip and animal snap of the recoil.  
  
You haven't got a chance, Spiegel, she said, stalling the fight to observe his behavior now that she had wounded him. You're unarmed. How can you expect to beat me?  
  
The sound of a hammer cocking answered her.  
  
I choose to fight you with my hands, Spike's voice was low and threatening. But don't think me an idiot. I could blow you away right now.  
  
If you can see me, she chuckled joylessly.  
  
Spike didn't tell her that his prosthetic eye allowed him marginally more visibility in otherwise imperceptible conditions.  
  
Don't toy with a man holding a gun.  
  
As his threat settled, she shifted uncomfortably.  
  
Don't you toy with me either, she said. Why don't you just shoot me?  
  
The bounty's nothing if you're dead.  
  
Intimate, almost sensual, silence settled between them once again. The sound of a sudden flurry of cloth heralded an unexpected onslaught: a bright flashlight withdrawn from Sentinel's cloak stabbed at Spike's eyes and as he staggered backwards, blinded, the sound of singing blades heralded the pain in his arms that he raised to protect himself from her slashes. He tripped over something small under his ankles -the sandbox he discovered- and fell flat on his back into soft, forgiving sand. It proved to be beneficial for only the half second of his impact and severely impeded his would-be fluid scramble back and away from the slashing blades.  
  
A yell in the dark, followed by a quick thud informed Spike of a new arrival. It was Jet.  
  
Spike, you okay? he called. From his grunts and breathing, Spike could tell he had taken up the fight with Sentinel.  
  
What the hell are you doing here?! Spike yelled. It was_ his_ fight with Sentinel, not Jet's!  
  
You're welcome, Jet groaned.  
  
Spike struggled to his feet out of the sandbox. His arms ached and his fingers felt stiff and difficult to flex. He stubbornly clenched his hands into fists.  
  
_I can still put up a _damn_ good fight._  
  
From the hazy darkness he heard the swishing as well-handled blades made calculated attacks against his partner. He saw the little light from the dying street lamps reflected off the blades, and noted that they were red. He chastised himself, and joined the fight.  
  
Just as he began to exchange blows, any control Sentinel might have had was lost and she stabbed wildly at Jet in the dark. The crunchy, squeaking sound of metal on metal ringed in the air and Jet cried out.  
  
Spike cried, immediately sensing the danger.  
  
One of Sentinel's blades had buried itself into Jet's prosthetic arm. Spike knew that even though one hand was occupied, the other one was still armed and free as ever, and now they were locked very close to each other.  
  
As far as Spike knew, Jet did not wear body armor.  
  
Jet realized the danger also and just as Sentinel attempted to ram her remaining blade through his gut he grabbed her wrist and depended on his brute strength to save him. Spike took the opportunity to mercilessly beat Sentinel in the face with his fist. She screamed, let go of the blade stuck in Jet's arm and twisted herself out of Jet's grasp. She was in a position where they could see her more clearly, and they watched as she withdrew two smaller blades from her belt. Her eyes burned with an animal ferocity that had as of yet been kept under control.  
  
Uh oh, Jet said softly.  
  
came the shout and Faye's foot connected with Sentinel's back. The assassin fell forward onto the ground, reeling at the unexpected attack from behind.  
  
Not you! Spike screamed. You're the _last _inconvenience I need! Can't I ever take a bounty by myself?!  
  
Hey, that's not very appreciative considering I just saved your butt! Faye snapped back.  
  
Who's gonna show up next? Ed? Ein?!  
  
Sentinel was on her feet with a scream and lunged like a leaping panther at the unsuspecting and unprepared Faye. Spike and Jet both saw the look in her eyes, the look of someone frozen in time, staring their own mortality in the face, powerless against the awesome strength of the end of life.  
  
Gunfire erupted suddenly and Sentinel jerked in the air and made a choking sound in her throat. Faye screamed and dropped to the ground, clutching her forearm. Jet and Spike were luckier and took cover behind the monkey bars.  
  
Who the hell is it now?! Spike demanded.  
  
Wait, hold your fire! Jet called. We're just bounty hunters. Stop shooting!  
  
Wait men, hold your fire, came the faraway voice of a police officer. In the silence came a voice, Jet? Is that you?  
  
Jet stepped toward the glow of a street lamp with his hands over his head. Yeah it's me, Jet Black. Are you ISSP?  
  
Yeah, we were responding to a disturbance call, the officer explained, approaching Jet. He stopped, looking up at Jet's upraised hands. You don't remember me, do you, Jet?  
  
I can't see a thing, Jet explained.  
  
It's Walker, sir. I used to work under you. I got you coffee and donuts.  
  
Oh yes, I remember.  
  
In truth, Jet did not.  
  
Why did you open fire without warning? What the hell were you thinking?! Spike staggered away from the monkey bars at the group of officers. He was still very much in a sour mood.  
  
We- we responded to a call... Walker trailed off. Spike's appearance and manner made his gun feel too far away when it was not in his hands. And we identified the woman you were fighting-  
  
You what?! Jet said.  
  
She- she was wanted, you see, there was a bounty on her head. She had taken part in a coup against a police station. The security cameras caught her in the act of murdering low ranking ISSP officers. We could see and identify her with infrared, and we thought you were with her or something...  
  
How much is the bounty on her?  
  
Two million woolongs.  
  
Damn it.  
  
Had they caught her, the BeBop crew would have received not only the two million but the two hundred million as well. It was only dumb luck that had struck against them.  
  
Spike approached the fallen women with caution. Police cars had swarmed the playground, and from the lights he could see again what Sentinel looked like:  
  
Plain. The kind of girl who was somewhat attractive, yet simple looking enough to blend into a crowd. Brown hair, brown eyes, and tan skin. She was clearly made to be a part of the background, and never the point of suspicion or center of attention. It was the ideal natural disguise: to not be noticed at all.  
  
He kicked the stylized knives away from her hands. She did not react. He knelt down quickly beside her and now the light from the cars was so bright he could count the bleeding holes in her body.  
  
Five.  
  
Spike's two hundred million sprouted wings in the wake of death and flew tauntingly away from his grasp.  
  
Sentinel coughed. Spike's drowning hopes brightened.  
  
Hey! Don't die. Just hang on, he told her. He put each hand on a separate wound and called to the police officers. Hey! She's still alive! Call a doctor and get him here right away!  
  
Jet stood over him and observed the situation. He shook his head at the officers.  
  
Hey! She needs a doctor! Are you listening?  
  
Jet said. She's gone. You can take your hands off her.  
  
Spike didn't move until he felt her die. Then he stood wearily, like an ancient warrior at the end of his closing battle, looking down at the fallen enemy that he had not had the honor of defeating.  
  
Faye broke the silence.  
  
Well, you guys can at least get a doctor for the rest of us who are alive!  
  
Her forearm was bleeding but she was standing and stamping her foot impatiently. Out of all the people demanding medical assistance, she was the least needy of it.

* * *

A clean up crew had arrived to remove the body and an ambulance had arrived to tend the wounded. In spite of his injuries, Spike refused to be taken to a hospital. Faye, on the other hand, welcomed the attention and used the opportunity to boss and flirt with her medical attendants.  
  
Take me to the best hospital around. I want the best doctor possible, and he better be as good looking as you.  
  
Spike was relieved when they finally took her away.  
  
A small crowd of residents had gathered to watch the late night commotion. Spike sat on the swings and Jet stood nearby. No one had the nerve to approach him, yet some children dared each other on how close they would get to the strange men who fought in the middle of the night, much to the rage of their mothers.  
  
Spike found it easy to ignore the children. He hated children. Especially since he'd missed his chance to have any with _her_.  
  
  
  
The response was far from enthusiastic.  
  
What, Jet?  
  
Why did you do it? Why'd you go after her when we were already doing pretty well from that hacker we caught a few weeks ago?  
  
Spike's voice raised to a pitch that startled Jet.  
  
Because I like eating meat and I like having fuel in my ship! I hate it when we run out of resources and we always do! We're never living the good life we keep dreaming about! Ever! We're always scrambling around for a living like rats! Filthy, shit-for-brains rats! I'm sick of it!  
  
I'm sick of it. he repeated, quieter. Do you know why I didn't want to go to a hospital?  
  
A fear of white coats?  
  
We're _poor_, Jet, Spike said. Tonight, I had either the choice of going to a hospital or eating tomorrow. It's just sad that I have to make that choice.  
  
I thought, he fumbled for words. I thought I could have a future, even if I didn't have a past. I thought I could live after death. I thought I could have something for once in my life.  
  
He fell sullen and sunk his head lower into the blankets around him that the medics had given him when they'd removed the remainder of his torn shirt and jacket to treat his wounds.  
  
But I guess that was too much to ask for.  
  
_No past, no hope for a future, and blind, pathetic present that can't see beyond itself; I'm a dead man walking_, Spike thought.  
  
Jet turned away from his partner and left to make any final arrangements with the ISSP officers. Spike sat, swinging slightly, to a song that he had hardly recognized as real and not in his head.  
  
A rubbernecking boy, disappointed and bored that he had missed all the action, had taken to poking at the sandbox with a stick and singing:  
  
Row, row, row your boat gently down the stream,  
Merrily, merrily, merrily, merrily, life is but a dream.  
  
Spike lifted his head, looking up to the waning stars his right eye could see, and saw Julia with his left eye. Which one did one believe? The eye from his past, or this new, strange thing that clearly showed him his aching present in all its futile glory?  
  
Life is but a dream.  
  
That which simply was and bore no emotional or sentimental attachment to or from Spike faded to a dull sunrise and existence continued to exist, offering no feeling or sensations to the man who sat under blankets in a child's cold play area.  
  
It sure is, he said, and settled carefully against the chains and fell asleep.

* * *

_SEE YOU DREAMING SPACE COWBOY  
_


End file.
